


The Idiot Godling

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Regaining Ground [4]
Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-07
Updated: 2008-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:18:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ask a simple question, get a mythical answer. This story can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Idiot Godling

Wyatt could not be blamed for thinking he knew all there is to know about Ambrose. His training made him an unusually observant man with an above average ability to unravel secrets. Studying this particular man had been his work for nearly five years during which they had rarely been separated for more then a handful of days.

He woke up to dark hair tickling his nose and went to sleep at night with his arm thrown over a pale chest. During their waking hours they enjoyed each other immensely even when they are driving each other insane. They have talked about everything and used their bodies to communicate what was beyond words.

Yes, Wyatt was safe to say that he knew Ambrose better then anyone, perhaps even better then the man himself.

"Hey, sweetheart." He walked up behind him in the garden. From the stance and inclination of his head, he could tell that Ambrose was lost in thought, probably thinking about his reengineered plants.

"Do you think the tomatoes look a little...not safe?"

Cain drew up behind him and looked at the tomatoes in question.

"They're very...red."

"Too red?"

"It is a little threatening."

But Wyatt did not have plants on his mind. It had been a very long challenging day and what he wanted was to wheedle his absentminded lover into their bed. Luckily, he knew this man. A single fingertip landed softly on the back of Ambrose's slender neck and he leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

"I think..." The finger traveled, raising goose bumps as it chased vertebrae downwards. "that the tomatoes can wait."

"Oh." A short breath left him. The finger traced over the curve of one muscled buttock. Ambrose shuddered and melted backwards. "Well what are we doing staring at herbs then?"

"Vegetables."

"Shut up, you were doing really well."

"Shutting up, sir."

They moved through the hallways barely touching, their fingers occasionally brushing together sending sparks through both of them. No one they passed paid them the slightest mind as they went.

As soon as the door to their suite closed behind them, Wyatt found himself up against a wall, thin lips pressed into his own and nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. Obediently he shrugged off his jacket and set his fingers to work on the tricky embroidery catches that shielded Ambrose from the world.

Wyatt loved everything about sex. Always had. He loved the ritual of it, the unclothing and the slide of skin one against the other. He loved the taste of sweat when he kissed a shoulder and the sheer animal joy of seeking pleasure with another.

They moved to the bed and Wyatt gently pushed Ambrose down. It was a silent signal of dominance and one that was acquiesced to immediately. In the earlier days this kind of play might have led to a tussle, the quiet power struggles that new couples always deal with. Now they read each other with practiced ease.

Ambrose slid onto the bed, stretching out his lean body, toes curling with pleasure under Wyatt's intense gaze. The other man dropped to his knees and drew his lover forward. He loved Ambrose's cock. It wasn't particularly large and it curved gently to the left even at rock hardness. What he loved was how it was perfect for this man. He drew it into his mouth, working the tip until hips jerked underneath his pinning hands. Soon the bitter fluid started to weep from the tip and Wyatt drew off, leaving Ambrose on the cusp, panting and flushed.

With a fumbling motion, he gathered up the lotion they used as lubricant and leaned down over his lover. They kissed, Ambrose's hands running over his back as he slicked a finger and teased the puckered hole.

"You're in a mood." Ambrose hissed, arching into the light touch.

Wyatt didn't answer, only leaned forward, pressing in as he bit at the pale neck effectively silencing his partner. By the time he was slicking his cock, Ambrose was loose and panting beneath him.

"Up."

"But I'm comfortable here."

"And I want to fuck you hard enough that you feel it for a week."

"I'm up." And he was, already scrambling to his knees and bracing himself against the headboard. Wyatt pressed himself up against his lover, licking the sweat from his shoulder as he eases himself into him. They paused unmoving for a long, Ambrose's fingers threading through Wyatt's on the headboard.

And then they are all motion, Wyatt thrusting and Ambrose writhing against him. The bed once more creaks ominously, but neither pause to consider the structural damage. Ambrose long ago reinforced the boards with metal beams after their last bed became so much firewood.

Wrapping his fingers around Ambrose's cock, he managed to bring them both over the edge within moments of each other. When at last they fell panting and sweating to the sheets, Ambrose let out a long shuddering sigh and kissed the hand that reached to draw him close.

"By the Idiot Godling that was good."

Wyatt grinned smugly.

"You know, one day you're going to have to tell me about that." He stretched against the sheets, already half-asleep.

"About what?"

"That whole Idiot Godling thing. It's just weird."

"That's a very long story." Ambrose propped himself up on his elbows. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"You're actually going to tell me?"

"I have to."

That woke Wyatt up.

"Why?"

"Well, first and foremost because I should have a long time ago, but it's all a little embarrassing." He sighed. "And second because I am required to tell anyone who asks. "

"Required, by who?"

"That's part of it."

Ambrose rubbed absently at his scar and reflexively Wyatt tugged the hand away. It was so faint now, an exaggerated ill-placed part that in the wrong light gave off an odd sheen. He kissed the hand then the tender pink tissue. Then he stretched and lay his head on Ambrose's firm thighs.

"I'm listening."

"You have to promise not to tease me about this."

"Of course not."

"Because it's going to sound really weird and I have to tell it a certain way..."

"If you keep on prefacing it, I'm going to fall asleep." He gave a tiny mock yawn.

"Your sympathy is overwhelming." Ambrose sighed and nodded. "All right."

~*~

Once, best beloved, the world was new and the gods were more numerous then stars in the sky. There were beautiful goddesses and terrible gods and those that were genderless and glorious. All of them were full of pride, power and vision. All of them wanted to own the new world for their own.

Among these many countless there were those more powerful then others. There was the God of the Sky, the Goddess of Fertility, the Goddess of Love, the God of the Sea and the God of War. They ruled above all.

~*~

"I thought you were an atheist." Wyatt watched the nearly trance like expression on his lover's face with interest.

"I never said that. You assumed I was because I never argued when you declared yourself one. Rather loudly in the middle of a very important state dinner, if I recall. To the High Priest of Vithos."

"He's an obnoxious prick."

"Who said otherwise? Now be quiet or this is going to take forever."

~*~

The ruling gods sat together on their lofty throne and argued over the world. The Creator sat above them all and said nothing. She never did, as you know, best beloved. The Creator sits in silence watching us all, even the gods. And she always smiles just a little at what she has made.

It so happened that the Goddess of Love came nearly to blows with the God of War. They both wanted power over the passions of people, ruling their hearts completely. When their screams nearly jostled the clouds from the skies, the God of Thieves gathered together the scraps of his courage and confronted them.

"Now look here," Said the tiny god. "if the two of you insist on quarreling, someone else will take the people's minds when you aren't looking. All gods are thieves, I should know."

The God and Goddess saw the wisdom of this and asked the God of Thieves what they should do.

"You should share the hearts and minds of people in equal measure. It will feed both your aims admirably. Those ruled by love will fight to the end for what they want and those ruled by war will do so out of love."

"That is a wise." The Goddess of Love smiled. "Why don't you come to my bedchamber, War? Surely we can talk this over there."

And the God of War went. Both decided they could amply distract the other with their prowess and take control of the people's minds while the other was in the throes of pleasure. Luckily for the God of Thieves, they were both in turn too distracted to notice him weaseling into the people's minds.

In the end, no one ruled over people's passions. That is why we love, hate and desire according to our whims and no other.

~*~

"Too many gods equals free will?"

"Look, if it helps just think of it as an allegory."

~*~

Now, best beloved, the seed of War planted itself in Love and it grew happily there. Created in an act of passion and calculation, the fetus fed itself on the food of Love blissfully unaware of what life would have in store for it.

The pregnancy lasted for an entire annual much to the Goddess' disgust and frustration. Before this, all the children born to gods had arrived almost instantly and fully formed. Her child refused to budge, refused to speak to her in the womb. When at last she expelled it from her womb, the babe was a babe, not a fully-grown Godchild. Even as it grew, faster then a person, but not as fast as a god, it did not take on a god-like appearance. The God of War was a giant and handsome in a dark way. A nimbus of threat glowed all around him and no one would doubt that he could turn mountains to rubble with the stamp of one mighty foot. The Goddess of Love was so beautiful that to look on her was to want to stay by her side for all of eternity. Her hair had the luster of a thousand stars and her eyes shone like moon.

Their child had black, ordinary hair that crimped a little on warm days. He wasn't very tall or very pretty. In fact, he looked a bit slow. It was hard to say what leant him this air, perhaps his eyes were a little close set or his nose a little snub, but the over all effect was not flattering.

And worse yet, he could not do godly things.

"Come my child." The Goddess would coax. "Try here to woo this beautiful girl-child to your side. She will make a lovely companion for you.'

The godling walked up to the pretty girl and gave her a half-smile.

"Uh...hi. How are you?"

"What are you some kind of freak?" The girl eyed him and walked briskly away. "Leave me alone."

"Why did you not charm her?" The Goddess scolded. "Why not change yourself to a studly bull and woe her?"

"A bull? I don't want to love a girl that only likes me as animal." The Godling sniffed. "And I'm not charming."

"You will be a god of love, if it kills me." The Goddess would often be heard to tell her son. "I'm not letting your bastard father take you."

So she sent him to all the most talented lovers of the world. Fine concubines, talented seducers and generous bathhouse attendants trained him. After each lesson, his mother would come and speak with him and find little changed.

"It was very nice." He would say. "Did you know that they keep the baths warm by a series of hot springs? Don't you think that steam could be used as an alternative form of energy that might make mortal lives significantly easier?"

"You are a complete moron." His mother would moan.

Eventually, his father found him and took hold of the godling by the hair.

"You're coming with me. I'm going to make a real man out of you." They walked through the sky until they found the giant Cyclops. "Kill him."

"Why?"

"Because I have told you too. Here." He handed his son his giant sword.

The Godling could barely lift it. When the Cyclops came towards him, he flailed the sword at him with little hope and wondered what happened to gods when they died. Fortunately, his father saved him at the last moment and spared him finding out.

"This won't do. Has she taught you nothing?" The God of War dragged his son back to his fortress.

Masters poured through the doors and the godling lived very hard for a long time. They taught him strategy, bare handed fighting and the use of dozens of weapons. Yet, each time they put him against a real enemy he faltered, would not strike a killing blow no matter how weak the opponent.

"Son, why do you stop just before you kill? Surely, you have the thirst of war in your blood?"

"It seems like an awful waste to me." The godling pointed to his latest adversary. "Did you know this man speaks three languages? He taught himself everything he could when he was a slave so that none could truly be his master."

"Are you entirely stupid or just half?"

After a while, neither the god nor the goddess wanted anything to do with their son. Instead of earning a proper name, everyone called him the Idiot Godling and left him to his own devices.

Unfortunately, his devices proved disastrous. He was forever tinkering with odd things, blowing up bits of the heavens. They would find him later, dazed, missing his eyebrows already planning the next experiment. Everyone decided he was rather mad as well as stupid and gave him an even wider berth.

So, best beloved, you can imagine the godling's surprise when the God of Thieves came to visit his laboratory.

"I feel somewhat responsible for you." The God of Thieves confessed after they had had a pleasant lunch. "You see if it were not for me then you would not have been born."

"Ah." The Idiot Godling bit into a biscuit. "I see."

"I don't think you do." The God of Thieves tapped a finger on the table then shrugged. "I've been asked to kill you."

"Oh. That's...not good."

"It's very not good." The God of Thieves waited, but the Idiot Godling just stared at him. "You really are this dense, aren't you? Look, I've been hired and I have to do my job."

"All right." The Godling continued to chew, looking unconcerned. "Do what you must."

"Aren't you going to beg me not to? Aren't you going to ask who sealed your fate thus? Have you no concern for your own life?"

Through the crumbs in his mouth, the Godling spoke.

"You are not only the God of Thieves, but the God of Assassins. You were sent here to kill me and it does not really matter whom though it's most likely my mother and father. As the God of Assassins, you could easily have killed me as soon as you walked in the door. Doubtless, you have studied my movements for most of my life and know that I would not fight back. Yet, you have sat here, taken a meal with me and spoken of responsibility." The Godling swallowed his treat. "So, I assume that you have taken one of two actions. Either you have poisoned my food, in which case I'm already doomed and should rather waste my last moments enjoying this fine fare then railing against fate. Or you have decided not to kill me, in which case, I am most grateful and would rather hear about how you intend to fake my death to save your own skin."

The God of Thieves blinked.

"You're supposed to be an idiot."

"For a God, I am a colossal fool."

"Right." The God of Thieves stood up. "So...I'm going to throw you out of the heavens now. I think you should survive the fall....try not to come back for a few centuries, all right?"

"Fair enough. Can I grab some of my things first?"

The withering glare answered his question. A matter of moments later he was hurtling out of the clouds and towards the rapidly growing ground.

~*~

"Are you all right?" Wyatt sat up as his lover's eyes looked threateningly wet.

"I'm fine." He sniffed slightly. "It's an engrained reaction. Just feel blessed that I don't have a lyre."

"A lyre?"

"This is supposed to be recited with one." The tears cleared almost as quickly as they came. "They're extremely difficult to play and I never did take to it."

"You're really starting to lose me here."

"Then you'd better let me get on with it."

Wyatt lay back down slowly, keeping a closer eye on the usually expressive face that even now was returning to its leaden trance state.

~*~

When the Godling landed, the earth trembled, best beloved and the plates of the earth shifted and the first earthquakes came to be. Though he was not dead, the Idiot Godling was quite broken. Lying in the middle of the grassy field, he could feel the fractures in half of his bones and the bruises all along his back where he had landed. When he tried to stand, he fumbled and spilled back onto the ground. Pain sparked red in front of his eyes.

"Hey, mister, are you all right?"

The sun was bright in the sky and for an instant, the godling thought the being before him was one of his divine relations so sun filled was his hair. Then the boy shifted and the light spilled elsewhere.

"Not really. I fell."

"Yeah, right out of the sky! I've never seen anything like it. Who are you?"

The Godling thought for a long time.

"I'm Nobody." He finally said.

"That's a funny name." The boy kneeled down next to him. "My name is Ostri. Er...are you hurt?"

"Yes. Quite a bit actually."

"Oh." Ostri stood up. "I'll be back in a jiff."

Not sure what unit of time a jiff might be, the godling stared up at the sky and tried to heal himself. He remembered every lesson and tried as hard as he could to let his power aid him, but to no avail.

"Maybe I am an idiot."

"Uhh...are you talking to yourself?" Ostri was back and he had with him a makeshift stretcher.

"Perhaps I was talking to you." The godling eyed the stretcher dubiously. "That can carry me?"

"We'll find out!"

And it did with some trouble. By the time Ostri had loaded him on and dragged him across the open meadow to the tiny cabin, the Idiot Godling felt much worse and collapsed into unconsciousness.

When he came to, he found himself in a pleasant little room, lying on feather stuffed mattress. The last of the summer's day was lingering in the corners of the room and the smell of fresh baked bread filled the house. Ostri came in and now the Idiot Godling found that the boy was quite handsome in a peasant human way.

"How do you feel?"

"A little better, thank you." He didn't even attempt to sit up. "I think that I will need some time to heal fully. I am afraid that I may be a burden on your family."

"Oh, I live here alone." The boy gave a careless shrug. "My family died out it the plague five years past. My village decided I was bad luck since I lived and exiled me here."

"I sympathize."

"Oh, were you exiled too?"

"Sort of. My murder was staged." The godling copied the shrug then winced.

"That sounds...complicated. Bread?"

"Yes, please. And a bit of water if you've any to spare."

They shared bread with creamy butter though Ostri had to hold it for the godling to eat and watched the sunset.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here while you heal." Ostri said when the last rays of light left the room. "I've not much time to entertain you though. I'm afraid you'll get mighty bored."

"Letting me stay is more then enough." Ostri assured him. "I'll find my own entertainment."

They were both good to their word. Ostri spent the day tending to his little flock of sheep, chicken coop, his garden patch and hunting the local carnivorous beasts that ruined all three. The godling, now called Nobody, sat lost in thought dreaming up a hundred things and discarding them in a moment. When he was well enough to move, he would take up discarded bits of cloth and straw while his mind was busy. By the time Ostri came home, a basket or a doll or some other strange figure would lie on the floor already forgotten for the next.

Usually the boy was in a fine mood. He would tell Nobody about his quiet days with enthusiasm as he cooked a fine stew or sharpened his blade. Some days though, he would have a sad look about his eyes and finally, Nobody asked:

"Why do you look sad?"

The boy went to the window and pointed.

"Do you see that hill?'

The Godling sat up a bit and squinted.

"Yes, it is tiny from here."

"Well on that hill is a cabin and in that cabin is a girl. I think she is an exile like me." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Her house is quite far away. Nearly a day's walk. I have passed close enough only to see her at her work, tending her garden or her goats. She is very beautiful."

And the godling understood.

"Why do you not walk the whole way and introduce yourself?"

"I cannot leave the sheep and the chickens for two days." Ostri looked appalled. "They would be eaten up for sure."

"Why then not send a letter to her through some means?"

"I cannot write, goose." Ostri sat back down, back to the window. "That's a rare skill indeed."

"I can write. And I could teach you." Nobody smiled. "Here, for your kindness, I will do this for you. I will teach you to write and help you compose a letter for lady. I will then take it to her and if necessary read it to her. If she desires a visit from you, then I will watch your animals."

The plan was soon agreed on much to both parties' satisfaction.

~*~

"I've heard this story before." Wyatt interrupted. "Except it wasn't a god and it wasn't a he. It was a beautiful woman and it got rather raunchy rather quickly if I remember right."

"Stories change." Ambrose hand drifted downward to stroke through his lover's short hair. "They're created by one person meaning one thing and that is the last time the teller has any control."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"It means that once the story was like this, this is the purest it could be kept, but fear and time can change many things."

~*~

Now, best beloved, the godling did eventually heal. At night he sat with Ostri and taught him how to write. The boy was smart and learned quickly. They would lean close together, teacher and student. Ostri always smelled of the sun and sweat, a unique and heady perfume for a godling, who has spent all this days among complex perfumes and blood.

When at last Ostri could read and write with ease, Nobody found that he could walk with little pain. Together they went out into the day's light and Ostri showed the godling how to weed the small garden patch. The work was easy, but required a certain concentration. As he bent over the tiny greens, the godling felt at peace and for the first time since his birth, his mind was easy and clear.

For a while, he forgot his promise to Ostri and spent the days not contemplating his journey, but the light in the garden and the ways of the tiny insects that scattered under his fingers. Until the night fell and Ostri would press him to help him with his letter.

Night after night, Ostri toiled over his opus and came away with a few lines that he tore up immediately.

"I cannot write my heart." He complained bitterly. "How can I tell her without sounding mad?"

Nobody stared down at his hands, the earth that formed in dark crescents under his nails and the calluses forming under his fingers.

"Tell her that every time you catch a glimpse of her, your heart beats faster." Nobody trained his eyes on his fingers with meticulous care. "Tell her that nothing is more beautiful then the sun in her hair and you would wait still for hours to catch that moment. Write to her that you want to know the taste of her lips because it would be the sweetest fruit you have ever tasted."

Ostri smiled.

"That's brilliant! You didn't tell me that you were a poet."

"I'm not." Nobody rose and coughed a little. "I'm going for walk."

"It's dark out, take the lantern." Ostri was already bent to his task and did not see the godling leave without a lantern, but glowing with his own soft light. For the first time, he shone with his birthright.

In the morning, when Ostri handed Nobody his love letter, the godling only donned his shoes and left without a word. He did not see the youth staring after him with all the hope in the world shining in his eyes, but he could feel it boring into his back.

The walk was long, not hard and the godling had plenty of time to think. He tried to invent something, anything that might make time pass. Nothing came to him. When at last he came to the hill, his scant courage almost failed him. What had he been thinking promising that he could convince some shrewish girl to come down from her hill?

"I am an idiot."

Then he ascended because he had made a promise.

The girl's house was much like Ostri's and the goats watched him with curious eyes as he knocked on the door. Inside he heard someone bustle about and then the door threw open.

"Who are you?" She held a sharp knife and looked like she knew how to use it.

"I'm a messenger from Ostri."

"Ostri?" The girl did not lower her knife and certain fear entered her eyes. "The plague? Are you death sent to take me?"

It had never occurred to the godling to ask the boy what his odd name meant. Was he called for the very plague he was thought to carry? How gruesome.

"Not death, lady." He showed her the letter. "The boy who lives down the hill. He has found you beautiful and would like to speak with you."

The knifepoint lowered.

"He knows how to write?"

"I taught him so that he could tell you how much he loves you."

"That is a great gift. Who are you?"

"I'm nobody." He gave her a slight smile. "May I read you his letter?"

She led him to her table, littered with dried herbs and the makings of cheese. The girl was pretty enough in a rough way. Long blond hair swung to her waist and her eyes sparkled with the same intelligence that he had spied in Ostri. Perhaps they were well matched.

The letter unfolded before him and for the first time, he read it both for himself and out loud to this pretty girl who still held a knife in one hand. It was simple and pretty and it made him ache.

"That's...very nice." She was blushing. "But he doesn't even know me."

"That's what he wants to fix. He wants you to know him well and love him as he has already began to love you."

Now she drew back and went to her tiny window. From it, the land sprung forth and at the farthest flung corner was the tiny cottage where her wooer even now stood outside gazing out at her.

"Tell him." Her voice was quiet, trembling and sure. "Tell him my name is Rosa."

The godling bent his head over the letter, smoothing the edges and nodded.

~*~

"So that's it? He just gives up?"

"It was a long time ago." Ambrose shrugged.

"You mean before this was acceptable." The gesture drawn between the two of them, signaling all that they meant to each other.

"I meant before I would be allowed to love you, yes. I meant before we could hold hands on the street. I meant when the both of us would end our lives like common criminals for the very fact of our attraction."

"That was a long time ago."

"Not long enough."

~*~

Rosa and Ostri built a house between the hill and the meadow. It had four bedrooms. One for them, two for their children and one for Nobody. When he began to experiment again, Ostri built him a shed in the back. Neither of them teased him when the shed had to be rebuilt. Instead, Ostri showed him how to refit the wood and how to use a hammer while Rosa whittled them nails.

After the first time it exploded, Nobody could put the shed back together again by himself. When it fell apart the only fall out was Rosa's careless questions. Her mind was sharp and she challenged him on his failures until they became successes. Even heavy with child and busy with her work, she had time to press him on his odd bits of clockwork. Ostri never asked, didn't understand, but nor did he mock or make demands.

Nobody came to love them both with equal fervor. To him, they were the most beautiful and flawed creatures. They grew angry at each other, and then forgave. They made love and bickered and drew him into their little family. When their first child was born, Rosa turned her tired face to him and handed him the tiny mewling bundle.

"We're going to name her Una.'

"That's pretty."

"And she will call you Uncle."

He blushed deeply as he stared into the baby's unfocused eyes. She was the most precious thing he had ever held. And she did call him uncle as soon as she could talk, as did her sister Dua and inevitably, Ostri and Rosa.

When the drought came at last, threatening to spoil his haven, the godling invented a perfect irrigation system on the first try. It brought such plentitude that it drew in the travelers who had left their homes looking for more prosperous land.

A town grew up and the godling walked among the people with a happy ease. They all called him Uncle and no one, but Ostri, now the prosperous leader of the town, knew that he had once fallen from the sky.

Traditions began including a meeting of the men of the town to share drink and food at the end of the working week. They would gather and tell raunchy stories that they thought to harsh for their wives. They would curse and put their dirty boots up on the tables.

And tell stories and tell stories and tell stories. Uncle would listen without judgment and drink with the best of them. He invented useful bits of machinery to ease the day's tasks and spent his nights eating Rosa's good cooking, helping Una and Dua learn their lessons.

Finally, someone asked him for a story. It was just a laugh because everyone knew that Uncle had no stories. He was intensely private and cagey about his past. He spent his time dwelling on the future and had little time patience for making things up.

But this night he was ready. And he told them the stories of the gods. They were epic and powerful and everybody listened, even as his hands trembled around his mug of ale.

~*~

"You skipped the debauchery part."

"I never said there was one. You did."

"Maybe I was thinking of the wrong story."

"They're all facets of the same thing."

~*~

Well, best beloved, the stories rooted in the people's minds and soon they took to saying prayers and building temples among their homes. And the gods noticed. They talked of nothing else though no one knew why it had happened. Without any intervention on their part they were getting more glory from this tiny unknown town then anywhere that they had forced themselves into people's lives.

It was, at the last, the goddess of fertility who went down among the people cloaking herself in starlight and shadow. She walked among the busy folk for days and when she was sure in her suspicions gone to find the man they called Uncle.

The godling was ready for her. He stood in the doorway of his shed, now many times rebuilt. The main house was ablaze with candlelight and he longed to go to his family, instead of talking with the woman he felt in the dark.

"Nephew." She spoke, shining like the stars. "What is it you have done?"

"I don't know." He looked at her. "What is that I am meant to have done, Auntie?"

"You were meant to die, I think."

"Well, I never was good at doing what I was supposed to do." He opened his door wide. "Come in, have something to eat and drink with me."

"I think not." She brushed the darkness from her hair until it shone. "You should come home with me. You have done such good here for the gods, they are all very grateful. They will want to speak with you."

He stood silent for a long moment, his great mind working.

"Please, auntie, I would love to come home, but give me a day to say goodbye. If I disappear, it may undo the work I have done here."

She agreed by vanishing into the rich night.

Uncle wasted no time. He gathered together a bit of food; some of his best tools and went into the house. Rosa and Ostri greeted him with their crooked smiles, their girls already safely asleep.

"Listen." Then he stopped.

"Are you leaving?" Rosa glanced at his bag. "When will you return?"

"Yes and never." He drew them both close. "There is something I must tell you. I am not what you think I am."

"You're our friend." Ostri hugged him.

"I am." He agreed. "I am also the son of gods and they have found me. My time with you must end."

Neither of them looked terribly surprised.

"You glow." Rosa explained. "When your tired or happy or very sad. And Ostri told me how you fell from the sky and you never talk of your past...and these stories you've given us. They're so real."

"They are real."

"And what are you the god of, then?"

"I'm...." He was about say that he was not, and then interrupted himself. "I am the god of this town. Of this pocket idyllic place."

"And should we worship you?"

"No." He snorted. "You should know better then that."

They both agreed with a smile.

"But if you leave us, will everything wither and die?" Ostri asked, all practicality.

"Everything you have is of your own making, remember that and don't tell silly stories about me."

"We'll tell your story to any one who asks for it." Rosa held his hand.

"I've thought of that." He handed her a thick sheaf of paper. "So you can tell it right. With all that I could not tell you while I was an uncle."

She took it reverently.

"Can I ask you for a blessing?" Ostri asked, glancing at Rosa. "Surely it couldn't hurt?"

"It could." He sighed. "And I have one, but I'm not sure it will be a blessing."

He squeezed Rosa's hand and took up one of Ostri's hands in his free one. They stared at him with all the open love that he had reveled in, while he hid from the world.

"Once in every generation of your line, there will be a boy child born to you." He pressed their joined hands to Rosa's womb. "And that child shall look a little like me, so that you will know him. He will be a good lover; a good fighter and he will invent beautiful things. It will be that child that will be my special care. I cannot handle a temple of worshippers, but I can take care for a few men through their lives."

"That's the blessing?" Rosa whispered.

"That's what I have to offer. It is you who have been my blessing." He kissed her at last, then her husband and joined their hands together. "Goodbye, my loves."

He walked into the night and was never seen again by the loves of his life nor by any god. It is said though that on crisp nights, he may be the traveler with a good story or the little voice you hear right before you think of something very clever.

~*~

When Ambrose at last fell silent, he watched with interest as his lover scrambled to piece things together. He loved watching that mind at work with it's obsession over detail and tinman love of clues.

"Are you trying to tell me that your...."

"God-touched." Ambrose said softly. "Is the word that you're looking for."

"God-touched." Wyatt repeated. "You're a man of science, reason. You can't tell me that you believe all that?"

"I can tell you that." He shrugged. "And I do."

"How can you? It's all...so irrational."

"I can believe, Wyatt, because I wandered the O.Z. for eight years with barely any brain at all and lived. I believe because at the end of the journey I ran into the only people who could help me find myself again. I believe because I was raised in that town and told that story as it was written on paper so ancient, I could only turn the pages with a feather in case they crumbled. And I believe because I found the only man that I could love after decades of loneliness."

"That's...hard to argue with."

"Then don't."

Wyatt studied him and then nodded.

"Do you think he minds that you call him the Idiot Godling?"

"I don't much care. He didn't exactly prevent me from getting half my brain removed either, you know."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Wyatt shook his head. "So you were trained in this tradition?"

"And my nephew when it was his time. He lives yet, in my home village. My uncle too survived Azkadelliah's reign. I write letters to them sometimes."

"How could I not have known all this?" Wyatt sat up, suddenly distressed. "This whole important side of you?"

"I didn't want you to think I was a freak." He paused, considered. "Well, more a freak then I already was when you met me."

"You aren't a freak." He sat up and drew Ambrose to him. "I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell me before."

"It's all right. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to tell you."

"Can I go to sleep now?"

Ambrose pushed him hard and he crashed to the mattress.

"No, I don't think you can."

And somewhere, the Idiot Godling paused in his travel and grinned.


End file.
